


Solidarity

by DizzyDrea



Category: White Collar
Genre: Friendship, Gen, Hurt/Comfort
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2012-05-13
Updated: 2012-05-13
Packaged: 2017-11-05 02:44:08
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 628
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/401580
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/DizzyDrea/pseuds/DizzyDrea
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>His jaw might hurt like a son-of-a-gun for the foreseeable future, but right at that moment, all was right with the world.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Solidarity

**Author's Note:**

> This was originally written for and posted to [elrhiarhodan](http://elrhiarhodan.livejournal.com/)'s journal, in commiseration over her terrible, awful, no good, very bad day.

~o~

Neal moaned, the resulting vibrations surprising a gasp out of him as pain radiated along his jaw. Frozen in place sitting on the Burke's couch, he tried to breathe deeply as he rode out the pain.

"Easy, there," Peter said. He laid something cold—shockingly so, yanking another gasp out of Neal—along his jaw, lifting Neal's hand to hold it into place. "Just hold on; it'll kick in soon."

Neal pulled back the compress, his eyes bugging out as Peter guided it back to his cheek. "Peas, Peter? You're using a bag of peas on my jaw?"

"Hey, don't knock it," Peter said, smiling. "My mom used to use them whenever I got banged up as a kid."

"'S undignified," Neal slurred, eyes closing as he waited for the painkillers to take effect.

"Maybe that'll teach you to get in the way of a perp bent on escaping," Peter said, chuckling. 

He nudged Neal, who cracked an eye open. Peter was holding a glass with amber liquid in the bottom. Neal raised an eyebrow. "Whiskey?"

"Medicinal," Peter said. "Drink up."

Neal lifted his head off the back of the couch, taking the glass and slamming down the contents in one long gulp. It burned on its way down, forcing a grimace to Neal's face, pain flashing briefly. He handed the glass back to Peter, who splashed some more liquid into the glass from a bottle Neal hadn't seen him holding.

"One more," Peter said, "then you're cut off. We'll get you to the dentist tomorrow."

"I hate dentists," Neal grumbled as he downed the shot.

Peter took the glass, setting it aside along with the bottle. "You like Mozzie," he said as he pushed Neal down onto the couch, loosening his tie and tugging off his shoes and socks.

"Wrong kind of dentist," Neal said, frowning then wincing as the pain flashed again. This time it was duller, and he didn't know if that was due to the undignified peas, the painkillers or the whiskey. To be honest, he didn't care, as long as it went away and forgot to leave a forwarding address.

"You're going to have one helluva bruise tomorrow," Peter said from somewhere above him.

Again Neal cringed, but the pain was even more distant this time, wrapped in cotton and blessedly muffled. "Think maybe the Harvard Crew'll be impressed?"

Peter chuckled. "Probably. I noticed none of them got in the way of our suspect." A pause. Neal cracked his eye open again. "Just, don't do anything stupid like that again, okay?"

"Worried?" Neal asked, half an impish smile forming before being short-circuited by the peas and the faint echo of pain.

"Yeah," Peter said, the burst of honesty warming Neal's chest. "I might have to resort to assigning you mortgage fraud cases just to keep you safe."

Neal groaned. "I promise I'll behave from now on. Just, no mortgage fraud. Please."

Peter smiled fondly. "Okay, no mortgage fraud. Just be more careful. You only have so many molars left."

Neal nodded minutely, still afraid that anything more might renew the pain. He felt Peter lean down, felt the slight brush of lips over his forehead. 

"Rest," Peter whispered. "I'll be nearby if you need me."

Neal opened his eyes a slit, surprised to find Peter's face still close. "Thanks."

"Anytime," Peter said, an affectionate smile tipping his lips. 

He straightened up as Neal's eyes fluttered closed. He could hear the vague sounds of Peter getting settled in the dining room: papers rustling, a beer bottle cracking open. Finally, the room grew quiet, Peter's steady breathing lulling him to sleep.

His jaw might hurt like a son-of-a-gun for the foreseeable future, but right at that moment, all was right with the world.

~Finis


End file.
